


J'ecoute Tu Parles

by BellaKatrina



Series: La Belle Dame [3]
Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hints of Patterson/Roman, Mentions of Patterson/David
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 14:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaKatrina/pseuds/BellaKatrina
Summary: He watches from the shadows, hiding amongst the trees bordering the cemetery. He knows the significance of the place, for all that she's never mentioned it. She's all alone, surprisingly enough.





	J'ecoute Tu Parles

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly AU take on end of Season 2 because I canNOT with Roman tossing that coin away. Sorry for the angst. You can decide if it's Patterson/Roman or not. Title from a song. There may be more fics in this series?

He watches from the shadows, hiding amongst the trees bordering the cemetery. He knows the significance of the place, for all that she's never mentioned it. 

She's all alone, surprisingly enough. Reade and Zapata hadn't come with her, but there's no security detail. There should be a security detail. He doesn't know exactly what happened, but he can guess. She's the brain to the team's brawn, as always. His mother's fallen, her plans failed; it's not from anything Weller or Jane did. Why the hell is there no security detail on her, the genius that foiled the plot?

Sandstorm's not extinct, he's proof of it, and if he can guess that she's the reason all of Shepherd's plans are ruined, others can too. For all Weller knows, there's a hundred shadow operatives wanting revenge. There should be a security detail. 

She's resting her forehead against a tombstone, sobbing. She's not a physical threat, not a woman capable of inflicting bodily damage in the way of Zapata and Jane, despite his best efforts to entice her to learn some more self-defense moves. 

There's no security detail; he'll have to make up for it. Nothing will bother her, not this night. He'd never hated her the way he hates the rest of them; he's too fascinated by the way her brain works and the way she solves his puzzles to hate her. He can't stay long, he shouldn't have come back to New York, but he needed to see them once more. He'd seen Weller on his balcony, watched a determined Jane walking into Weller's building. He wishes them well, despite currently hating her. Weller's a good man, for all that he's annoying as anything in his self-righteousness, but if they make each other happy… he can't begrudge them that. The rest of the team ran out of the building soon after Jane marched in; that's clear enough to understand. Zapata seems well, despite the injury, Reade at her side as always. But Patterson… 

Patterson's alone, sobbing apologies and explanations to a tombstone. It breaks his heart, what little's left after Jane and Shepherd have ripped it apart. David's blood isn't on his hands, but it could have been. He'd been in the way of Borden's plans; it's sheer dumb luck that Patterson had broken it off with the idiot and he'd gotten himself murdered before they reconciled. If Shepherd had told him to kill the man to clear the way for Borden, or Oscar, or Cade, or himself even, he would have; he's glad it didn't come to that. He already feels enough guilt. The things he's done… the things he's done with her, albeit with relatively clean hands. He never would have touched her otherwise. 

He stands watch as she breaks down; it's long overdue. He doesn't know how she's kept it together as long as she did. He watches as she sobs; he watches as she lies on the ground, curling her fingers in the grass growing over the grave. After a while, her sobs quiet to the point he can't hear them any more; it's a blessing not to listen to her screaming apologies to a dead man. 

Around midnight, it starts raining; still, she doesn't move. For all that it's no longer winter, it's still too cold for her to be out unprotected in the weather. He has a heavy coat and a hoodie, she has nothing. He debates with himself for a solid ten minutes before he steps out of the shadows, shrugging off his coat as he walks slowly to her side, scuffing his feet to make noise on the way so as to not startle her. She doesn't move, seemingly doesn't hear him coming. At this distance, he can hear her, breaking his heart again as she just murmurs "David" and "sorry" over and over. She doesn't even jump when he drapes the jacket over her. He can't leave her like this, heartbroken, bereft, broken on the ground, so he sits down next to her and gently pulls her up until she's seated in his lap. 

He's unsure if she's noticed his presence, not until her steady stream of apologies to the man starts to change. She's so quiet that he's not sure he's hearing her correctly; it sounds likes she's trying to introduce them, which makes him feel things that he's not sure he understands and that he's certain he does not want to feel. Instead of speaking, he just wraps his arms tighter around her and rocks her slightly, trying to keep her as warm and comfortable as he can. It's all he can offer her. 

She leans forward to place her hands on the tombstone again, but this time he can tell something's changed. This feels more like a benediction, a goodbye; it's not a return to the way she was clinging to it earlier. 

Finally, she turns to face him. "Take me home."

It's not at all what he thought she'd say. 

It's what he remembers, later. She'd said more to him later, but he can't remember that part as clearly. 

This, though, this sticks with him. Home; he's never had one of those, not really. 

He'd meant to throw away Alice and Ian's coin. There's no point hanging on to a relic of two dead children, something he's stolen from another dead man, the man he could have been. That's not him any more. His sister is neither Alice nor Remi, nor will she ever be them again. He can't get back what he's lost; why should he cling to that past? The coin is the only thing that he has that's a link to the home he once had and lost. It's just trash. 

Instead, he hides it away at Patterson's, tucked between a photograph and it's frame, something he knows that she'll never part with, a picture of her and her family back when she was young, standing in front of their home. Ian's coin deserves a home; Patterson can provide that far better than Roman can. 

He sits on the side of the bed, watching her sleep. The shadows in the room start lengthening, changing, and he knows the sun's rising. He waits until the light's bright enough that he can see her clearly, then he walks away without a second look back. 

She survived the night; his watch is over.


End file.
